Assassin
by Difficult-notImpossible
Summary: James Diamond is known for getting done and getting gone. He just never knew there was someone that was as good an assassin as he was. James/OC


**Okay... so I know I've been MIA for a bit.. not really sure how many people still come on here... **

**DOn't know if things have changed but oh well.. **

**Decided to head back to the BTR fandom with some good old fashion James drama... Hope you guys like!**

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His eyes scanned the crowd as the music blasted loudly in his ears, the vibrations pounding against the ground he stood on. He silently took in the routinely scene before him. Bodies danced close together, cups were tipped over, and drinks were splattered onto the ground, splashing at the feet of those enjoying themselves under the heavy sets of strobe and spotlights. Their movements were broken up into flickering bits as the strobe light was overused, and he hoped that whatever was making his drink taste funny didn't give him side affects to strobe.

From across the dance floor, a pair of eyes smiled at him, beckoning him over. Looking around, he made sure there was no one surrounding him and flipped his hair to the side, downing his drink and tossing his plastic cup onto a nearby table. A smirk came to his lips as the multiple lights and music beats surrounded them. As he got closer, his eyes studied her more thoroughly. Blonde, tall, long tan legs, pretty proportional body, plump shiny lips. He had seen it all before on thousands of different girls, all somewhat alike in their appearances. A perfect California beauty.

His fingers wove their way through his hair as he made his way towards her, waiting for the night ahead.

He woke just as the sun was peeking through the blinds of his room, with a painful headache and sick, empty feeling in his stomach. He didn't get up yet. He simply lay in the large bed, hazel eyes staring straight up at the ceiling as he tucked an arm under his head and let the other one fall on his bare chest.

Soft breathing emerged from beside him, but he didn't look. He never did. He wondered to himself what had possessed him to take her to his place, just as he always wondered when he woke up on mornings like this one. He blamed it on whatever he had consumed before, just like he always did. Sighing, he sat up and pulled a shirt he had found nearby over his head. Upon standing, he found a pair of basketball shorts and slipped those on. He opened the door to his room slowly and quietly, peeking over his shoulder when closing it to make sure she hadn't a clue of his leave. He wasn't about to have her wake up to some romantic scene like those ridiculous movies he had been auditioning for, and simply talking to his latest victim face to face would bring too many complications. Girls liked to talk, and it would never have bothered him before…

Except for the fact that girls like to talk about _relationships_.

He didn't _do_ relationships.

So as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and his iPod from the kitchen counter, he escaped the apartment for a long, distracting "jog". As the door clicked behind him, he left the situation he couldn't handle to someone who could.

She bolted up straight in bed when the loud bang of frying pans clattering echoed through the apartment, her heart beating quickly as she struggled to find a logical explanation to the noise. A sleepy moan called out next to her and a tan arm fell onto her lap as the sleeping form beside her rolled over, eyes closed tight.

"Rem…" He questioned her quick moves and she assured him nothing was going on, hoping that she was just imagining the unusual noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed her back down onto the pillows and fell back into his slumber, beckoning her to do the same.

She hadn't had her eyes closed for about ten minutes when she heard the television click on.

Her eyes looked around for her cell phone tossed on the nightstand. It was pretty early for her to be waking up on a Saturday morning. It was too early for _anyone_ in the apartment to be waking up on a Saturday morning. Especially since James had gone out the night before and was expected to wake up with a hangover that would take a lot of tea and Advil to cure.

Another sound emerged from behind her bedroom door and she couldn't help it. She slipped out of bed and grabbed a hockey stick propped up against the doorframe where it had been placed the night before and clutched it in her hands. The hockey helmet that was usually worn by the sleepyhead on the bed was abandoned on the ground beside him, and she slipped it on, just in case, preparing to protect herself against whatever had broken into her apartment.

She sneaked past the bedroom door and lifted the hockey stick in her hand, but her shoulders slumped and her eyebrows rose when she realized there was a random girl sitting on _her_ couch watching _her_ TV….

And eating _her food_.

It took a lot not to yell right there, but she kept her cool, approaching the girl quietly. The girl let out a loud yelp when she looked over to see her there, hockey stick and all.

"Oh! My gosh, you scared me." She giggled, twirling a long lock of hair.

"Who are you?" she didn't mean to be so blunt, but it was early and some girl was getting comfortable in her house!

"Oh,"a half-eaten bagel (_the last_ bagel that she had been planning on having for breakfast) was rested on the coffee table as the blonde stood up, immediately intimidating as her long legs held her up at least a foot taller than her. A perfectly toned arm was held out and an award-winning smile was flashed. "I honestly had no idea James had a sister…. I'm Christina."

His name made her eyes narrow. James. Of course, it all made sense now.

"Step-sister." She corrected bluntly. "And you don't know a lot of things."

Christina's face fell as her icy words settled. Honestly, she didn't mean to be so rude, but her annoyance with James and the lack of sleep was settling in uncomfortably. The arm was pulled back and a lock of blonde hair was tucked behind Christina's ear. Her blue eyes looked down at her perfectly painted feet and she swallowed. The awkward silence dragged on as she thought of what to say.

"Where is he?"

"I honestly don't know. I woke up and he wasn't there."

She gritted her teeth. Figures.

Christina fidgeted with the buttons of the shirt she was wearing, which she noticed now belonged to James himself (weird, considering he never let a girl bower his clothes), and bit her lip. This was awkward for both of them, not to mention completely unnecessary. How many times did James need to be told not to bring girls home?

She honestly didn't care if he did bang them, she was too tired of telling him how unhealthy these relationships were for him.

But come on! He couldn't book a night at some motel or something?

As soon as he walked through that door, she planned on having a serious discussion with him. This _was_ her apartment too, after all. The least her uncaring step-brother could do was respect her space.

"I'm really sorry, Christina," she apologized, slipping the helmet off her head and setting it on the kitchen counter. "But—"

"He's done this before, hasn't he?" The blonde was quick to guess, and it surprised her.

Sighing, she nodded.

"I figured." Skinny shoulders shrugged themselves upwards.

She bites her lip. Looks like James didn't get a completely stupid one this time. She holds out her hand again. "I'm Remedy."


End file.
